The Inner Struggle

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Clearwater Poet
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The Inner Struggle

Post by EbonWolfe » Sat Apr 20, 2002 10:50 am

She does not fear. She is confident of her prowess as she enters the forest and danger surrounds her. Strange vegetation engulfs her as the shadows close threateningly from all sides. She does not fear for she has been trained to fight with any weapon she may find. From the time she could talk, the lessons of battle have been recited to her as the lessons of life. She is prepared.

She follows the only possible way through the undergrowth. It seems there will be no traps of deception to confuse her directions. Her enemy does not fear her either but she will change that. She follows this path with stoic determination as it meanders through the evil wood.

For the trees are sentient as is every other life-form existing within it's boundaries- it's body. The flora and fauna are parts of it to obey it's wishes though the puppets are not strengthened against her flashing blades. All foes that come against her are slain, but she has yet to reach the center of the darkness. She is patient.

As she cuts into the physical forms of her enemies, she feels the pain that she inflicts upon the dangerous will behind the forest's darkness. This does not bring her joy or satisfaction for even if she were causing no damage, she would still continue. It is her way. She will not abandon her cause or doubt her skill. This, she believes, is what she must do. It is the culmination of her life. Her life's quest. She will succeed where others have failed before her. She remembers the others with a melancholy sigh.

Death has been a very real possibility from the first step onto the path she chose to take. This she has accepted and does not regret her decision. Though she may die, she will never abandon her fight. She will die with steel in her hands or with teeth bared if need be but she will never surrender or retreat. One way in and one way out. She does not fear.

She fights and she slaughters. Sustaining only superficial injuries, she kills or mortally wounds every opponent to face her flashing steel- her dance of death. And a dance it seems as she moves, so gracefully twisting, turning, and thrusting to parry every quicksilver attack and takes the initiative from her attackers. She wantonly slays without remorse for she is justified in her actions by the only being she is accountable to- herself. She is confident and cautious, more cunning than the force she battles.

The path widens ahead as she slows her steps guardedly. She senses the presence of hidden beasts as she enters the small clearing. With keen eyesight she picks them out as little more than obstacles. They will obstruct her path for only as long as it takes to remove them. She has no need of courage for her own will has consumed her. Fear has been lost in determination as she moves down the most efficient path her skill can manage. Time is a considerable factor but it cannot take precedence over her life, for she must finish alive.

She continues down her path having lost only a few arrows and fewer moments. She nears the heart of this grove of death as she rounds the next bend. Her enemies are becoming less frequent and she regains some strength. She does not tire easily but she is still human. She slows her pace, this time not in caution but in reservation. She will be there in time. She draws nearer to this battle with every step but does not question why. The time for thought is past, it is time for action.

She enters the domain of the enemy that threatens her; how she knows this is a mystery. She has lost every weapon that she had brought with her- every weapon but her hands. These may be the most deadly of all with her cunning and skill guiding them. She advances slowly, allowing her enemy to show itself. She is in no hurry for it will end as it will end. She will use all of her skill, and knowledge, and experience to defeat her foe. It is fitting that there will be no weapons to use. She will destroy in the most prejudicial way possible- with her body, mind, and soul. Her final encounter approaches rapidly now that her destination is in sight.

The Tree of Life stands before her and from it's branches the physical manifestation of her hatred slowly descends to engage her in battle. This is the present point of her life's experience. She doubts, but for only a moment, and then changes her decision. This beast must be tamed.

The creature, having two heads, cautiously stalks this warrior woman. She stands her ground, every muscle relaxed in readiness, waiting for the first attack. The one head- Fear. The other- Judgment. The very essence of her hatred condensed and concentrated into the sleek form ahead. Evil fangs- deadly. Venom drips from them as the combatants draw nearer to one another. Slit-pupiled eyes remain fixed on the woman's own assessing visage. She has met her enemy and knows it to be herself.

The two heads strike simultaneously as she lunges, lightning-fast, under the tooth-filled maw of the beast. She grasps to each throat as tightly as she can, drawing them nearer to her face. First one, then the other, she tastes of their poison with her tongue. One is bitter and one is acrid, but neither are fatal.

She reels back as her grip weakens, then fails altogether. The two-headed demon she fought withdraws with respect as the woman realizes the power she has over it. This battle is through though she had no idea it would end this way as she awakens to a different world.

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The Fat Cat
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The Inner Struggle

Post by heinzs » Thu May 02, 2002 10:58 pm

Remarkable germ of a story here. Good action, but rather emotionless in the third person. Try rewriting it in first person and putting some emotion into it.

First paragraph: How about "Since before she could talk, the lessons of battle were recited to her and became the lessons of life."


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